Fallen moon
held prisoner in a puddle
stabbed
by a stiletto
that click claks
to the cruising car
offering straight
sex
(& other various
positions & passions)
to its gesticulating
occupant.
The car
leaves without her.
She shifts gum
from one side to the other
blows
& pops
a bubble
leaving the sticky mess
upon her lips
regurgitated to
blow another.
“A...cazza’n cullo! ”
she shouts at the bitter cold.
I attend
the dying moon
whispering the last rites
of a half forgotten poem
to its shattered reflection.
Returning to my room
I drink alone.
Full moon
in Milan
wandering the heavens
looming large now
smiling in my little window.
*
Guarda che luna Look at the moon
Guarda che mare Look at the sea
Questa notte senza te on this night without you
Vorei morire I don’t want to live
Dónall Dempsey
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/guarda-che-luna-look-at-the-moon/
